“‘Where do you live?’” she chanted delightedly.
“‘Down the lane.’ No, you live down the lane.”
“It isn’t far now. Are you tired?”
“Oh, no! I’m doing very well, thank you.”
“Perhaps you’d better rest.”
“By no means. I hope you live over the hills and far away.”
“You aren’t bashful, are you, Mr. Puddin’ Tame?”
“H’m.” He peered down at the injured ankle. “How’s the foot?”
“A little—cold.”
“I’m afraid the wrench has interfered with the circulation. Poor child!”